


Good Grief

by lysiabeth



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Brotherly Bonding, Bruce Has Issues, Dealing With Trauma, Detective Work, Leviathan Organization (DCU), M/M, Memory Loss, Mother/Son Bonding, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-RHATO 25, Post-The Sanctuary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysiabeth/pseuds/lysiabeth
Summary: “I know who you are, you know. I got my degree at GCU.” The girl says, eyes boring into Jason’s chest as if the red bat were still plastered on it, and Jason’s back stiffens.“Right.” Jason’s teeth click together as he closes his mouth. He’s eighteen-hundred miles out from Gotham, and of all the Goddamn vet centres he could have broken into it’s probably the only one around that knows anything about his city.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Talia al Ghul & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 23
Kudos: 192





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _What's gonna be left of the world if you're not in it?_   
>  _What's gonna be left of the world, oh ___  
> 

_ A woman sits in a dark cell, arms relaxed and palms resting on crossed knees. She’s injured, terribly, her breathing ragged as she tries to inhale and exhale deeply. _

_ Footsteps patter on cold stone, and the woman pays no mind. _

_ “Meditating? Tut tut, Ms al Ghul. Surely a woman like you knows when to admit defeat.” A man says, leering at her through the cell bars, and Talia al Ghul opens her unswollen eye. _

_ “Until you or my father are to sink the blade of my own sword into my heart, I have not been defeated.” _

_ “And yet you sit in a hidden cell, left to rot. I guess everyone was right about you - your stubbornness is known around the world.” The man says, and Talia closes her eyes again. _

_ “Nothing to say? I’m seeing your father after this; I’m happy to pass on a message.” _

_ The man stalls, waits for a response. Talia’s deep breathing fills the room. The man turns to leave. _

_ “Your plan won’t work. There are people out there who will figure what you and my father are up to, and they will stop it. And when they free me, I’ll kill you myself.” _

_ The man laughs, though he feels a prickling sensation in his arms. He tries to remind himself there’s no need to be worried; she can’t hurt him, not where she is, not when he has Ra’s men to protect him. _

_ “If you’re talking about your  _ beloved _ Batman-- Well, I’m afraid to say he may be too preoccupied. Your hopes for any kind of revenge may fall rather… flat.” _

_ Talia’s lips quirk in the shadows. _

_ “I’m not talking about Batman. I suppose you and my father will find out, soon enough.” _

_ The man leaves, heart beat rising. He tries to remind himself that Ra’s is in control here; that if he thought there was any threat to his plan, they would have been taken out already. There was no one else’s name raised, except Talia’s. The conclusion, the man comes to, is that the heiress is merely bluffing. _


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is watching him, though. The kid looks almost hopeful.
> 
> Colorado, Jason decides, can wait.

Jason is panting when he finally breaks the lock on the veterinary centre’s front door. Security has started to up in these places, something he’s been noticing the past few months, and he wonders if it’s the ongoing ketamine addictions running rampant through America’s underbelly or the amount of sick fucks looking to steal animals for a bit of fun is to blame.

He grunts as he pushes through to the surgery room, hands slippery because of the blood. His blood. He’s getting sloppy; movements stunted still due to his past injuries, despite the fire of the Lazarus Pit he feels rushing through his veins.

All he needs are a few stitches to kick start the healing, and he’ll be fine. Then he can leave--

Something behind him rattles. Jason pauses.

The room goes silent.

“The-- The door was locked--- I’ll call the police on you.” A voice says; quiet, shaken. Clearly scared to death. Jason sighs and turns around.

It’s a girl, woman really, probably a few years older than him. She’s dressed in blue scrubs and a light cardigan, her feet covered in bright pink Crocs with little badges on them. Jason cringes.

“I don’t mean any trouble.” He says. Really, he doesn’t. The girls hands are shaking where they’re crossed over her chest, and Jason holds his hand up. The movement makes the cut on his abdomen move, and he can feel more blood pooling between the layers of his kevlar and hoodie.

“We’re not a hospital.” The girl says, voice still quiet, and Jason tries not to sigh.

“I just need a few stitches and gauze and I’ll leave. I can even give you money for them. Please.” He asks. He’s desperate now; he hasn’t eaten in hours and the adrenaline from the fight is nearly worn out. He doesn’t want any more drama on his hands tonight.

The girl is hesitating though, and Jason can see the top of an iPhone sticking out of her breast pocket. If push comes to shove, he could get it off her quicker than she could call 911, but he really doesn’t want to. The girl bites her lip, eyes flicking between his face and the blood on his side.

“You can stitch yourself up?” She asks, voice a little firmer, and Jason nods. The girl straightens her back and makes a move towards him. She gives him a wide berth, eyes darting back to him every few seconds as she pulls keys out of her back pocket and unlocks a medical cabinet. She pulls out a generous stack of gauze and two stitching packets, and places them on the operating table.

It’s about as close as she’s willing to get.

“You can’t do it here; if you get any more blood on the place it’s gonna cost me more than a few minutes of wiping down. But you can take them.” She says, arms crossed, and Jason reaches across the table, sliding the supplies into his arms. Suddenly, he feels cold.

“I don’t gotta-- You’re not gonna call the cops, right?” He asks, wonders now if maybe this was just a distraction, and the girl shakes her head ‘no’.

“Thanks. Thank you. I don’t usually… Do this. You know how it is, medical insurance in the States, total nightmare--”

“I know who you are, you know. I got my degree at GCU.” The girl says, eyes boring into Jason’s chest as if the red bat were still plastered on it, and Jason’s back stiffens.

“Right.” Jason’s teeth click together as he closes his mouth. He’s eighteen-hundred miles out from Gotham, and of all the Goddamn vet centres he could have broken into it’s probably the only one around that knows anything about his city.

“You need to go.” The girl says, nervous again, and Jason nods. He places the supplies into the pocket on his thigh, and makes a quiet exit.

He thinks he hears the girl let out a mumbled ‘you’re welcome’, but he can’t hear it fully over the rushing in his ears.

\----------

Colorado wasn’t meant to be a long-term thing, per say. The work was quick and dirty, and maybe he did get a little too violent than necessary, but then things kept… Popping up. Names of big people doing big things; names too big for a nobody town too far out from the Rocky Mountains.

He wasn’t overly suspicious for nothing. Things were happening, or were about to happen. He could feel it like a nicotine shot to the bloodstream.

“You’re alive, then.” Mary says, eyebrows arching over pink sunglasses, and Jason shrugs.

It had taken hours for the skin to knit itself together last night, Jason sat in five inches of tepid bathwater, watching the blood flow slow, then stop, the jagged bits of skin finding themselves back to each other. By time he’d been happy enough with his stitching work, the bathwater had turned cold and his lips an unsightly grey and blue.

“Sure. What’s up?” Jason asks, wants to get straight to business, and Mary places a cloth down on the bartop.

“You never told me you had brothers.” Is what she says, hits Jason completely out of the blue. His confusion is genuine - what the hell?

“Uh… It’s a sort of complicated family tree. What’s bringing this up?” Jason asks, wishes he’d brought more than just a hand gun and knife with him out this morning, and Mary gives him a long, hard look. She picks up the cloth again, and starts wiping in circular motions across the varnished wood.

“Kid came in about twenty minutes ago lookin’ for ya. I told him to wait out back; can’t be having minors in here. He should still be there - I haven’t seen him leave.” Mary says, focus completely on her task at hand, and Jason definitely wishes he was mare kit up than he currently was.

Only one of his ‘brothers’ would be referred to as a kid, and it’s the one that’s least on his list to talk to.

“I gave him a lemonade - be a doll and bring the empty glass in when you come back?” Mary says, as Jason’s feet carry him to the outdoor area out back. It’s weird, the bar in daylight. He pushes his way through the heavy bar doors into the small courtyard, the whole thing smelling like an ashtray.

Damian Wayne is sat on one of the benches, knees pulled up under his chin, eyes boring holes into the half-empty lemonade glass.

He doesn’t look up when Jason enters, but Jason can see the second his spine moves, getting ready to pounce if needed. Jason makes his way to the bench, folds his arms, and stands straight.

Neither of them want to be the first to break the silence. Moments pass, and slowly Damian plants his feet on the floor. He looks up at Jason, eyes scrutinising.

“You were rather easy to find, Todd. No wonder you look so beaten up - any dick, tom or harry could find you.” Damian says, nose upturned, and Jason wonders who’s taught him that phrase. Duke, probably, the new kid on the team. He’d been rather keen to meet him, honestly, before he’d been kicked out of the city.

“I’m not hiding.” Is what Jason says, because really, what is there to hide from? Bruce had already made an unwelcome call - anyone else at this point was just an annoyance.

“What do you want?” Jason asks, in case Damian decided to get smart about some comeback, and the kid… Hesitates. Jason gets that feeling he always gets when he’s about to get bad news.

Some leaves in the corner rustle against the concrete as the Autumn wind blows past. Jason can feel it right on his skull, the buzz cut taking longer than expected to grow back. A few loose strands of Damian's hair flicker in the breeze.

“Look, I haven’t got all day. Either spit it out or go home.” Jason says, patience wearing out, and Damian looks up at him. His expression is unreadable, but Jason feels like he’s being x-rayed.

“Right then. I’ll catch you later, kid.” Jason says, turns to leave, and Damian lets out a hurried ‘wait!’.

Jason pauses. He could walk away. He should walk away. Getting into the affairs of a Wayne has proven time - and time - again to never work in his favour.

“My Mother is missing.” Damian says, and that sends something through Jason. He slowly turns.

“Your mother is a top-level assassin. I’m sure she’s just… Working.” Jason hasn’t seen Talia in years. He’d left that relationship amicably; her offering motherhood if he wanted it, and him offering Bruce’s demise.

Neither had gotten what was wanted. He doesn’t like to think about it, too much.

“Leviathan is back up and running. And she isn’t the one running it.” Damian says, and that piques Jason’s interest. He sits himself down on the bench, the old wood creaking under his weight.

“Your mother is Leviathan, Damian. If it’s back up and running, then I’m guessing she has something to do with it.”

“She doesn’t - the fighting style of the new members it’s… Different. I can’t tell you why I think this, exactly, but I think she’s in trouble.” Damian says, and he actually seems concerned. Jason needs to walk away.

“You need to be asking Bruce about this, not me. I haven’t seen your mother in years, and I haven't dealt with Leviathan in almost as long.”

“I can’t talk to father, he’s busy with the-- He’s preoccupied.” Damian says, quickly covering up whatever he was about to let slip, and Jason raises an eyebrow at him. Damian raises one back. The two of them settle into silence again.

Jason purses his lips.

“What about the fighting style is different? Anything recurring in the patterns? Particular weapons used?” Jason asks. His memories on Leviathan are choppy. There are flashes though, of him in the pits, Talia standing over him with an imperious look on her face as she watched him take down one after the other of her men. Talia worked hard on her criminals, but she crafted Jason to be the best.

Jason knows it’s almost exactly what Damian went through, minus the pits of death and the looming threat of Pit rage controlling his body.

“They’re… It’s hard to say. I haven’t seen anything like it before. Well, except-- No, it couldn’t be that. All I know is that they fight hard, dirty, and most of them have been trained in swordsmanship. They’re good, almost as good as myself and Mother, but there is a… Haste to their technique. Like they were trained to be good but in a manner of speed, not in a manner of quality. Something my mother would never stand for, as you would know.”

Jason has to remind himself it isn’t meant to be a dig. He remembers, a little, Damian’s tiny face peeking at him some days as he trained, Talia whispering to her boy whenever he did a particularly good job - or a particularly bad one.

“You said ‘except’. Except what?” Jason pushes, tries to shake his memories with Talia out of his head, and Damian’s eyes flick towards the floor. There’s something going on that he isn’t telling him, and Jason will be damned if he doesn’t find out.

“Damian. Except what?” Jason asks, fingers drumming on the tabletop. 

“I haven’t.... Voiced this, with anyone. Primarily because no one would understand but also because my knowledge of it is limited. My grandfather, Ra’s, I believe you met him; there were moments, maybe two or three times, where my mother couldn’t keep me shielded from his rage. When he would force his own men to duel him, for him to kill them with no honour, in such a haste, to show us what he had done… How the Lazarus Pit had changed his body so. How the wounds would heal quickly without almost any blood.” Damian says, and Jason is starting to feel nausea creep up on him. 

He had been accosted by Ra’s, once. Talia never sent him anywhere in the fortress alone, always followed by a guard of six or more, her new son too precious to leave unwatched. Ra’s had found him, of course. Had gone against his daughter’s explicit wishes and sought him out.

That wasn’t the problem. Jason was big enough to deal with Ra’s. What he couldn’t deal with was staring at green glowing eyes, just like his, Ra’s smirk filthy and mean. It had been one of the most unnerving moments of Jason’s life, and Jason remembers the feeling of his cheek splitting open to close up immediately afterwards, Ra’s glee turning to gloom, then confusion, then hatred.

Talia had managed to catch up with them before anything further had happened. Jason hadn’t known the obsession Ra’s held for him until after he’d left the fortress. How he yearned to create a soldier like Talia had with Jason, an almost-corpse made into the perfect fighter.

Jason was gripping the table now, his breaths shallow.

“You think Ra’s is operating Leviathan.” Jason says. It isn’t a question. He understands, now, why Damian had sought him out.

“Not just that. I think he’s trying to make an army of the undead - I think he’s trying to do what my mother did with you but on a larger scale. The only thing I can’t figure out, is why.” Damian tells him. Jason really looks at the kid; how some of his baby fat has started to fall away on his chin and cheeks, how he sits taller than he used to. How he actually seems worried.

Jason should stay in Colorado. There are things happening here that he’s sure he’s close to figuring out. And seeking out Talia isn’t something he’s sure he wants to do.

He’s almost left his entire left behind. Actively seeking out the past won’t do anything to Jason except likely get him hurt. Again.

Damian is watching him, though. The kid looks almost hopeful.

Colorado, Jason decides, can wait.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of vomiting

His heart had quite honestly broken, when Bruce had broken the news about Roy. He hadn’t let it show, though. To Bruce all they appeared were teammates; friends maybe, at a stretch. The old man had never known how the two of them had really felt about each other.

Jason thinks about Roy as he loads up his car. Damian is sat in the front seat, moping about Jason not wanting to take the bat-plane, and Mary is standing with one hand on her hip and the other shielding her eyes from the weak Autumn sun as she watches Jason.

“Though y’all said you had business to finish here.” She says, eyes narrowing as Jason forces the boot closed, and Jason claps his hands together.

“Family, you know.”

“Thought you said you ain’t have one of those either.” She says, and Jason shrugs.

“I don’t, I guess. Not really. But I don’t trust the kid’s travel plans back home. I’ll be back in Colorado within the week - trust me.” He says, and the woman looks up at him. He likes her, he’ll say it. She’s got the balance between being nosy and flippant; gives him a beer without him needing to ask but only supplies a judging arched brow to go with it, never pressing for details until Jason offers them.

And he rarely does.

“You gonna be seeing that hot guy who came looking for you a few weeks back? You tell him, if he ever gets tired of the city hustle and bustle…” Mary says, eyes lighting up at the memory of Bruce, and Jason tries not to gag.

“Trust me, he’s so not worth your time. Text me on that number if you have any trouble.” Jason says, conscious of the fact that he’s made a mini promise to look out for her and her bar after last month’s attacks, but Mary just nods at him.

He makes his way to the car, and Damian has his head slumped against the window, the map from Jason’s glovebox on his lap. He’s already traced the quickest road from Colorado to Gotham, and Jason lets out a sigh as he fastens his seatbelt.

He wonders, in the back of his mind, if Talia ever dreamed of her son back in Jason’s care again.

\------------

Jason lasts about twenty minutes of putting up with Damian’s under the breath jabs about his driving before he whirls around with a;

“Well why don’t  _ you _ drive then?!”

It isn’t a proud moment. Damian looks startled, eyes bugging as he watches Jason turn back to the road, hands tight on the steering wheel, but Jason sees him sit up straighter in his seat at the outburst.

The radio crackles as they pass somewhere with a signal.

“I’m sorry about Arsenal. I know the two of you were… Close.” Damian says, voice soft, and Jason’s heart clenches.

“He was more Dick’s friend than mine.” Jason says, tries to brush it off, but Damian lets out a huff.

“That’s a lie.”

“Sure it’s not. They were friends together in the Titans for years before Roy and I started working together.”

“It isn’t about working together, though. Your and Harper’s relationship wasn’t just a friendship.” Damian states, matter-of-factly, and Jason breathes in sharply through his nose. He feels cracked, slightly, like he’s a delicate stone wall and Damian is hitting at him with a stone pick, finally hitting the right spot to crack him wide open.

His stomach churns.

“Can we not talk about him-- Roy-- Can we please not have this conversation.” Jason stutters, palms starting to sweat, and he can feel Damian staring holes into his temples. He keeps his eye on the road, for fear of not being able to keep a straight face.

“My apologies. I’ll keep quiet about that topic then.” Damian finally says, and the silence stretches on. Jason feels like he’s under a microscope, though. If Damian knows about his and Roy’s relationship, then could that mean others in the family do too? Did Bruce know, all along, as he sat across from Jason on Mary’s bar stool and told him how he’d died? 

Jason had hacked the bat-server that evening, blood rushing with grief and alcohol. Mary had cut him off, the first time she’d ever had to, and sent him on his way. His fingers trembled as he finally found the autopsy report, buried amongst the twenty others of those lost at the Sanctuary.

There had been pictures, of course. Roy’s pale skin had looked blue under the morgue lighting, the bullets rippled across his chest. Jason had remembered the morning before they had parted, lying in the rays of the rising sun, his hand solid against Roy’s bare sternum.

He’d vomited, then. The taste of bile and whiskey making his throat burn, fingers gripping the toilet bowl until it felt like he might shatter the ceramic in two.

He hadn’t dared look again. The pictures and Bruce’s account of the attack had been enough. He’d locked the necklace Roy had given him for safe-keeping in a deposit box across town, shoved Roy’s cap into the bottom of his least-favourite duffel bag, and tried everyday to forget the sound of the laugh he’d never hear again.

“So. What did you tell Bruce for him to let you come here?” Jason asks, and Damian wrings his hands together. They’re Talia’s hands - thin and long, slightly wide at the knuckles, palms flat. Perfect for using swords ,and batons - just like she’d taught him to. Just like she’d taught them both to. Damian must notice Jason watching him fidgeting, because he moves to sit on his hands.

Jason used to do the same, back before the Pit.

“I uh… Told him I was going to see Superboy about a case we’re working on. He’s actually off-planet at the moment so I’m hoping Father is too distracted to look into it.” Damian says, and Jason wonders what’s playing on Bruce’s mind so much for it to have been brought up twice. 

He doesn’t want to ask. Closing the door on Bruce had taken him years. To open it even a slither would undo all of that. 

“Damn, you’re getting full access to the plane and I only got to drive the Batmobile twice. Clearly the old man has let loose.” Jason says, means it as a joke despite the pang in his chest, and Damian shakes his head. 

“If you were a Robin longer he would have let you do more things.”

“Don’t, kid. I don’t need you on top of everyone else trying to make me feel better about our failed relationship. Bruce sure as shit isn’t losing any sleep over it, so no one else has to.”

“That’s not true either. Father loves you, but you went against him and you can’t blame him for—“

“Enough. New rule. No talking about Bruce, no talking about Roy — in fact, no talking about anything to do with our mutual past acquaintances except your mother and your grandfather.” Jason says. So much for keeping the Bruce door shut — already Jason’s mind is racing at ‘ _ father loves you _ ’. Pathetic. 

Damian lets out a large ‘tt’. Jason takes it as a win, and turns up the crackling radio slightly. Checking the time, Jason had wished he’d just let Damian fly them back to Gotham. An hour and a half down, twenty-five hours to go. 

It was going to be a long two days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the filler I promise things get more interesting next chapter >:)


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVE KESH!!
> 
> I also just want to say a massive thank you to everyone reading, kudosing, commenting and bookmarking this. It means a lot and I really hope y'all enjoy what I have planned for this one <3

Jason drives them as far as the Missouri border before he decides to tap out. His neck is aching, his elbows feel like they’ve locked into place, and Damian has been drifting off for the past two hours. 

They’re exhausted, and Damian is carrying a Wayne Enterprises credit card on him. Jason isn’t one to let go of an opportunity that arises like that. 

The motel he finds is clean, if a little stale, and the guy at the front counter looks hesitant to check the two of them in. Jason nudges Damian, who begrudgingly slides the shiny card on the counter top. 

Any protests the guy had beforehand stops, and he goes quiet as he writes down their details. Jason had given him an old alias, something he used back when he used to love around with Roy and Kory, and he can’t believe how much things have changed from when the three of them were all together until. Well… now. 

“I don’t understand why we had to stay in a motel. You’ve stayed up for far longer - driving through the night shouldn’t be a problem.” Damian grumbles, jamming the key harder than necessary into their door handle, and Jason puts his hands in his pocket. 

“You’re more than welcome to go sleep in the car. But without me to drive, you’ll be staying in the car park. Up to you.” Jason says, swaying past Damian and into the room. He plops onto the double bed in the middle of the room, a small single bed up against the opposite wall. 

There’s a bathroom, a kettle, and threadbare but clean towels. As far as last minute overnight stays go, Jason has absolutely had worse. 

Looking at Damian’s face, it’s clear the kid hasn’t. 

“Problem?” Jason asks, flopping his ass onto the lumpy mattress, and Damian sends a scathing look over the room, landing finally on Jason.

“Let’s just make sure we leave early. I can’t be away from Gotham for too long - father will start to worry.” Damian says, tentatively makes his way to the single bed, and Jason kicks off his shoes before shuffling up towards the headboard.

“Sure. Whatever.” Jason says, battles with the covers for a few minutes, and then turns to face the door. He closes his eyes, and doesn’t give Damian the opportunity to start up any other conversation.

\-----------------

The rest of the drive goes… Okay. Considering. Damian had feigned car sickness, but Jason was ninety-percent sure it was the Seven-Eleven burrito he had bought himself for lunch, and apart from that it passed without event.

Damian had kept quiet about his mother and his grandfather, Jason had kept quiet about Bruce and Roy, and apart from a few heightened games of ‘yellow car’, the remaining sixteen hour drive goes swimmingly.

It’s about two in the morning when they arrive in Gotham. Jason feels electric when he drives the bridge into his city; he rolls the window down, the wind sharp against his scalp, and his chest pangs at the sight of her cityscape.

He’s missed it. Home.

Damian’s is radiating nervous energy from the minute they pass the city-centre; skyline buildings getting smaller and sparser, the green expanse of Wayne Enterprise’s “nature preserve” taking over concrete, and then all there is are the tall pine trees that dot the Wayne Manor gardens.

Jason’s feeling nervous himself, hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, foot stepping on the clutch a little harder than strictly necessary. Just because he didn’t smack Bruce across the head the last time he’d seen him doesn’t mean he’s fully forgiven.

“Oh, rats.” Damian hisses, the Manor getting bigger in the distance, and Jason’s heart sinks too.

The gate is open; someone inside is expecting them.

“Let’s hope it’s father who is awake to meet us, and not Alfred.” Damian says, sitting up straight in the car as tarmac changes to gravel, and Jason can’t help but silently agree.

He hasn’t seen Alfred in months. The man has probably disowned him, after everything that’s gone on. At least Bruce lacks the self-respect still to look him in the eye.

Jason pulls right up front, his shitty tin-on-wheels severely out of place compared to the stone Manor and Land Rover parked a few yards away. It’s kind of funny, when he thinks about it; he always has been a taint on this life, no matter when he steps foot in it.

The front doors open, and warm light spills onto the front steps. The man in the doorway is slender and tall. Jason swears.

“Good evening, Alfred.” Damian says, hauling his bag out of the car with him, oozing confidence. Jason recognises that move, and it isn’t one he learnt from Bruce.

“Imagine my surprise, Master Damian, when I call Mr. Kent to enquire why he sent the Batplane back without you in it, only for him to tell me he has not had the pleasure of your presence these past few days as you had led the rest of us to believe.” Alfred says, arms crossed, and Damian hides his grimace well.

Jason wishes the kid were taller, if just to hide behind him a little longer.

Alfred’s eyes settle on Jason’s, and the look is downright dirty.

Fuck it. It’s not like him and Alfred have been close in years, really.

“Does your father know about this?” Alfred asks, tearing his eyes away from Jason and back to Damian again, and Damian stalls.

“Does his father know about what?” A voice asks from behind, gravelly and deep, and the hair on Jason’s arms stands up.

He starts to feel, maybe, that following Damian back to Gotham was a bad idea.

The Batman looms over them, stocky figure cutting off most of the light, and Damian backs up towards Jason, his back knocking Jason’s fist, which he’s instinctively curled. The last time he’d seen Bruce had been civil enough, but the last time Jason had seen Batman - that’s an entirely different memory all together. He never used to understand the fear, really, that Batman invoked in his city. It was why he’d been bold enough to steal those tyres, all those years ago - sure, Batman beat up bad people, but he wasn’t gonna hurt a kid.

He wasn’t gonna hurt his kid.

~~ He’d managed to hurt Jason. ~~

“Ah.” The Batman says, disappointment and shock all rolled into one, short syllable, and both Jason and Damian puff out their chests at the same time.

Batman looks between the both of them, slowly. His eyes are dark under the cowl, and Jason hates that he can’t read his expression, not like he used to.

“You’re grounded.” The Batman says finally, looking at the smaller of the two in front of him, and Damian gapes.

“How unreasonable. You loaned me the Batplane.”

“I loaned you the Batplane for Titans business. Not whatever… this… is.” The Batman says, gaze once again pausing on Jason, and Jason’s entire body is screaming at him to act; to throw the punch, the throw a smoke grenade, to get back into his car and drive right back the way he came.

“I recall telling you you weren’t permitted back in this city.” Is all he has to say to him; clearly their conversation back in the bar those weeks ago really was just all business. A favour, maybe, a ‘no one else is going to tell Jason about Roy so I suppose someone should’ affair.

Jason shrugs.

“I’m not here on any official business.” Jason says, because he isn’t, because fuck Bruce and the Batman and this entire Goddamn family.

“He’s right. I invited him, I had something to… Share with him.” Damian says, sticking up for his old guardian, and The Batman crosses his arms.

“Does that something have anything to do with your mother?” Batman asks, almost smug-like. Mother Fucker. Jason wants to hit him right in the mouth.

“Well, you weren’t willing to do anything. And Todd knows her and her affiliates and her patterns; he’s the best person, both intellectually and skills-wise, to help me find her. Even more so than you.” Damian says, matter-of-factly, and Jason really wishes that he’d stop putting his foot in it for the both of them. Damian could sweet talk his way out of anything with Bruce -- Jason, on the other hand, doesn’t have that luxury when it will all inevitably blow up in their faces.

“You had no right to go behind my back like that.”

“You have no right to abandon my mother in a time of need! You didn’t even bat an eye when I told you I suspected she was in danger.”

“Inside. All of you. This is no conversation for the front steps.” Alfred finally says, emerging from the shadows, and Jason can feel him boring holes into the side of Jason’s skull.

Awesome.

Jason means to leave, really, but all of a sudden Damian has a vice-grip on his wrist, and is tugging him into the Manor. The two of them push past Bruce, Damian’s sheer determination and Jason’s mass enough to shove him slightly to the side. The smell hits him, first. To everyone else it’s probably unnoticeable, but to Jason it’s seared into his brain.

It smells like home, like comfort, and worst of all, it’s the smell he remembers most from the Lazarus Pit.

He’d asked Talia about it, a few weeks later. Legs crossed and eyes hopeful as he’s looked up at her. She’d pressed her lips together, pensive.

_ “The Pit can… Mimic things. Things of our death, such as the pain or the panic, but things that once made us feel most… Alive.”  _ She had explained, words chosen carefully, the heavy meaning of what that meant for Jason hanging between them in the air.

Jason feels like he’s suffocating again, dragging himself through six-feet of dirt as Damian leads him towards the ‘secret’ entrance to the Batcave. It’s that feeling like your lungs are full of air and empty at the same time, and this time Jason isn’t wanting to scream _for_ Bruce - he wants to scream _at_ him, instead.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Talia will kill me if she finds out about this.” Jason mutters. The sun on his back is warm; breeze light, a few late-blooming tulips lining the walls of the garden. The young boy peers up at him with a smirk on his face._

The monitors at the centre of the room buzz, each screen lit, and Jason tries really hard not to have his eyes land on the Glass Case standing at the opposite end of the cave.

He fails, obviously. It’s like the damn thing comes alive whenever Jason is around it, a little voice in the back of his mind that sounds like The Joker, taunting, ‘look at me, come to me’. The costume in the box looks ridiculously small. Jason remembers he  _ was _ ridiculously small.

Bruce has no right keeping it up, after all these years of failing the boy in that suit. It isn’t fair.

Jason descends the metal staircase in silence, head bowed, trying to focus on keeping his breathing even. He can’t - won’t - have a panic attack here. He’s exposed enough as it is, in Bruce’s territory, in the mother-fucking-Batman’s Cave, and he can’t afford to let any more defenses down.

Even if he does have a slight glimmer of hope that Damian might stick up for him.

“You can stay right here. I don’t want you looking at anything.” A voice orders behind him. Jason’s back goes straight and the hair on his arms sticks up. He hasn’t heard Bruce’s voice sound like that since the night on the rooftop, and ice cold fear trickles over his body. 

He has to remind himself Bruce wouldn’t risk doing something like that, not now. Tainting the rooftops of Gotham with Jason’s blood was fine, but Bruce would never go against himself to do it within his own walls.

Coward.

Damian does send Jason a Look, though. His lips are pursed and left eyebrow slightly raised, eyes soft. He’s watching Jason for a reaction, and trying to figure out his own response to it. Talia used to do the same, after a few fights in the pits had got him riled up enough. It hits Jason, not for the first time, how alike Damian and Talia are. The kid has done a good job of hiding it - either to impress Bruce or for his own motives - but the impressions of the heiress are hard to tune out, especially when you’re so used to it.

_ “Talia will kill me if she finds out about this.” Jason mutters. The sun on his back is warm; breeze light, a few late-blooming tulips lining the walls of the garden. The young boy peers up at him with a smirk on his face. _

_ “Scared of her? Tt. I should have expected it - even her best can’t out-duel me.” The boy says, voice endearingly serious, and Jason just… Keeps looking. There’s a part of him, a very buried part, that would have laughed at the kid. Maybe even taken the time to goad back at him. _

_ His heart isn’t in it anymore, though. His childhood wonder had died alongside him in that warehouse a year ago, and all that’s left is the bubbling feeling of anger and Talia’s voice in the back of his mind. _

_ “She doesn’t want you training - even if it is just with me. Your tutor will be looking for you, Damian. Leave me alone.” Jason tells him, brings his arms across his chest, and the child scowls at him. _

_ “You’re no fun.” Damian sighs, but lowers the knife he thought he’d hidden from Jason’s sight. “I thought teenagers were meant to be fun.”  _

_ “They are, when they’re not trained by the League of Assassins to kill.” _

_ “Are you going to kill someone?” The child asks, and Jason’s lips tighten. _

_ Yes, is what he wants to answer. Because that’s what this has all been about; the training, the Pit, Talia taking him in as her own in the first place. The Joker and The Batman, tucked away in Gotham’s dirty alleyways, waiting for Jason to slice her open and expose them to what he has planned for them. _

_ Damian stands, a scrutinising look on his face, waiting for an answer. _

_ “I do what I’m told to do.” _

_ “Is that why you’re returning to where you came? Because my mother asked? I know it’s where my father lived - she told me once, she thought I was asleep. But you’re returning to Gotham next week, am I correct?” Damian asks, his shoulders sinking as he talks, and Jason nods. Damian’s shoulders sink lower, and Jason almost feels sorry. _

_ “Your father isn’t all he’s hyped up to be, you know. You should get those expectations in check before you get hurt.” _

_ “I am his biological son. Him and my mother are bound. No matter what you may think of him he will accept me no matter what - even if you can’t believe that.” Damian snaps, words venomous, and Jason then does have to bite back the mean laugh that rises into his throat. This kid is so naive, he thinks, can’t believe that the kid could be so dumb to believe that Bruce cares about anything other than himself. _

_ Jason spies one of his handlers on the wall in the distance, and immediately drops his features. _

_ “I have to go. And put that knife back before anyone notices it missing.” Jason tells the boy, revels a little in the shocked look on his face, and makes his way inside. _

Jason is snapped out of his memory by the sound of something clattering to the floor. He looks up and sees Damian with a smug look on his face, Bruce looking down on him, and half of the desktop pushed onto the floor.

“Sorry. You know how I get when I’m tired, Father.” Damian says, making Jason curious as to what led to his outburst, and Jason can see Bruce’s shoulders rise as he pulls in a big deep breath, slowly sinking as he releases it.

“You’re heading towards a grounding.” Is what Bruce finally says, kicking his stuff out of the way and pulling the desk chair out for him to sit on. Damian just sends Jason a look, his hand motioning for him to come over, and Jason hesitates.

He deserves to be in the know on this. Talia means a lot to him, even if he hasn’t exactly untangled their relationship in the years since he last saw her, and Damian had come to him for help. On the other hand, though, Jason has visions of Bruce kicking his ass from here ‘til Tuesday if he disobeys him. Jason hesitates, foot going to move then stopping, before deciding to step forwards anyways. He stands on the other side of Damian, as far away from Bruce as possible while still seeing the screens, and tries to ignore the suspicious look Bruce shoots him while he does.

Bruce grunts as he types on the keyboard, that and the water trickling in the background the only sound in the room. Jason feels like any sudden sound will make him jump out of his own skin.

“We have been following some of the activity of Leviathan. Nothing in the information we have gathered has led us to believe Talia al-- Your mother is in any danger.” Bruce says, eyes searching through a file list.

Damian Tt’s. Loudly.

“You know her fighting style as well as myself and Todd. You know these people have not been trained by her or her men. Even if you don’t wish to believe it.” Damian says, crossing his arms. Bruce sends him a look, something crossed between exasperation and anger. His fingers slow at the keyboard and he sinks back into his chair, thinking.

“I would be willing to… Admit… That maybe some of them aren’t showing the training or movement exhibited by Leviathan members in the past. But that isn’t to say that I completely believe your mother is in any danger.”

“They fight like my grandfather - my mother isn’t going to just bend over and let him take over an organisation she left dormant.” Damian says. At the mention of Ra’s name, Jason feels his spine prickle.

“Your memories of your mother and grandfather’s relationship have been distorted by the fact she tried to protect you from him. Apart from where you were involved, your mother and he benefited from working together on most things.”

“And where Todd was involved.” Damian points out, turning to Jason for support, and Jason feels like he’s been punched.

He’d never told Bruce about anything to do with his time with Talia. Bruce knows he trained with her and that’s about the extent of it.

“That was different.” Is all Jason manages to say, goes to pick at his nails so he can avoid Bruce’s slow, scrutinising look. The chair creaks as Bruce gets more comfortable.

“You think Talia is in danger?” Bruce asks. Jason tries to stamp down a feeling of hopelessness due to the fact Bruce is actually asking for his opinion.

“From the information Damian has given, I think it’s viable that he may be up to something without her knowledge.”

“Without her knowledge, sure, but why would you believe she’s in danger?”

“Because she wouldn’t be stupid enough to use the pit as a means to her own end. Not again, anyways.” Is what Jason finally bites out, and he sees the colour drain slightly from Bruce’s face.

“Damian said they’re quick to anger, and quick to heal. If they’re exhibiting qualities of someone recently resurrected from the Pit, as well as moves used by Ra’s and his men, it’s enough of a coincidence to believe something’s wrong. Especially given the fact he’s already proved in the past this was something he’s wanted to do.”

“And how would you know, this was something he’s wanted to do?” Bruce asks. Jason clenches his teeth.

“Because he approached myself and Talia asking for her permission to use me to start it off. She said no, obviously, but she’s been suspicious of him ever since.” Jason says. Whatever remaining colour in Bruce’s cheeks drains almost immediately. Jason would probably laugh, if he wasn’t feeling like he might vomit.

“I see.” Is all Bruce says. No, ‘why didn’t you tell me’, or ‘I had no idea’, or ‘I’m so sorry you died and came back alive and crawled yourself out from a coffin into Gotham’s night and I never cared to try to find you for a second time’.

Jason’s used to being pushed aside by Bruce. It isn’t about to stop happening now.

“Damian, I’ll give you a week. Come up with enough evidence to prove it isn’t your mother behind this and I’ll pass your findings on to the league. Now I have to go - Dick will be waiting for me to call and I need to check up on him.”

“He doesn’t like to be called Dick, anymore.” Damian says, tone sour, and Bruce shrugs as he stands to full height. Jason is feeling out of the loop - as per.

“What’s up with Richard?” Jason asks, biting at his thumb, and Damian and Bruce share a look with each other. Something serious, then.

“He got himself shot in the head, and the surgery to save his life has left him… Slightly amnesiac.” Damian says. The kid kind of looks heartbroken over it. “He doesn’t remember much of us.” 

Jason snorts. “Good for him.”

“It’s not funny. He goes by Ric. And has an awful buzzcu--” Damian closes his mouth as his eyes flick to Jason’s head. Bruce just watches them both, eyebrows raised.

“Buzzcut and doesn’t want anything to do with you lot. Maybe we’re more similar than I first thought.” Jason says, doesn’t mean to hurt Damian but relishes in the nasty side eye Bruce gives him. He begins to make his way upstairs.

“Where are you going?” Bruce barks, voice stern, and Jason starts to walk up the staircase backwards.

“To bed. I’ve been driving for sixteen hours and God knows any minute with you is like an eternity. I’ll call you tomorrow, Damian.” Jason shuts the door to the cave behind him. Alfred is nowhere in sight. He wonders what’s happened to his apartments across the city - there’s no way Bruce could have known about them, but… Well. Maybe if he gets shot in his sleep because Bruce had fucked with his security, the guy might actually learn a thing about actions and consequences.

He’s at the door about to put his shoes on when he hears movement behind him.

“You gonna lecture me at this time of morning, Al?” Is all Jason says, ties his shoelaces and makes sure to double knot them. When he stands to full height, Alfred is giving him an unreadable look.

“No, I suppose not.” The old man says, voice tight, and Jason nods.

“Thought so. Night, then.” And then he’s out the door, finally breathing clean air.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday miss kesh i hope this sends you crazy, sends you stupid


End file.
